


They're Like Whiskey And Zeppelin

by gaialux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Five Times, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 15:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Dean loses Sam, and the one time he saves him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They're Like Whiskey And Zeppelin

**Author's Note:**

> Supernatural does not belong to me. This piece of fiction was written for entertainment purposes only, no profit is gained.

**001 – Two Weeks In Flagstaff**

It’s a hunt in a town Dean stopped remembering the night before. Ask him the creature and he’d probably struggle to recall that, too. The Impala’s chugging on little water and cheap petrol because Sam’s taken the credit cards and Dean’s not prepared to stop driving. He can already hear John yelling in his ear, picture his face and he’s sure there’s a fist somewhere too. Sam’s on _his_ watch, and nothing about that can ever spell good news. Especially when the world is dark and half the streetlights are busted out on a country road. It’s Dean and headlights and the wide stretch of some American freeway. It’s missing Sam, and yelling John, and stressed as fuck Dean who’s running hands through his hair, spanning every tree, whispering “ _the fuck are you Sammy?”_. Problem is, he’s got no idea.

Doesn’t even know why Sam got the fuck outta dodge in the first place. Routine hunt for them, routine hunt for Dad. Apart from being his usual bitchy self – which he should have outgrown by now at the age of eight- _fucking_ -teen – Dean hasn’t found any trigger, though God knows it’s been playing on his mind like a scratched record. He knows Sam. Better than anyone in the world knows any other faceless body. They’re whiskey and Zeppelin, fast cars and hot chicks, buzzing old school westerns on the TV and seedy motel rooms. Soul meets body and they can read each other’s minds.

All that and more, and he’s still not registering. Like an engine that won’t turn over, Dean’s mind is clouded by the darkness and the smell of old fast-food wrappings. Hates himself for that, yanks his hair hard through his fingers and blinks back hard. He knows where Sam is, he’s got to. Nobody else will, nobody else ever could. Up to Dean, or he’s returning to the old motel room to face John, and he’s admitting that he can’t do his job. Can’t do a damn fucking thing. Dean’s pressing his baby past her limit, but even the Impala’s groans aren’t making him ease up. She’ll pull through, always does. Loves Sam like a brother.

A brother who’s missing, and Dean can’t find him.

* * *

**002 – Night Before Stanford**

It’s been an hour. The fact he’s finished the whiskey bottle he found in Dad’s duffel doesn’t say much for his coping mechanisms. Sam’s locked himself in the bathroom, Dean thinks he hears chocking sounds, but he’s stuck to the bed, fist trying to clench around the bottle and he waits for it to shatter.

Never shatters, just catches the sun and tries to blind him. Dean doesn’t even care.

It’s like every organ, muscle, bone, fluid in his body has hardened and blocked itself from the outside world. It’s just Sam’s words seeping in to fill the gaps, sealing him with mortar and he doesn’t think that feeling will ever go away. There’s the flush of the toilet and Dean doesn’t even blink. _“I got in, got accepted. Stanford – California.”_

His stomach cramps and he drops the bottle. There’s not even the satisfaction of the crash and shards of glass, instead it lands with a dull thud on the blood and cum stained carpet and just sits there, not even a drop of liquid to fall. He hears the door unlatch and looks up, Sam with a mattered head of hair and eyes Dean can’t read. He looks like hell and Dean’s glad. He’s fucking glad.

“What do I tell Dad?”

Dean doesn’t even look at him. “Should’ve thought about that before you abandoned us.”

“I’m not –" At first his voice is rising, Dean knows its defensive. Sam seems to catch himself. “I’m not _abandoning_ you.”

“Sure a dictionary could set you straight.”

The silence is thick like the mixture of blood and sweat after a hunt, alive and pumping between them. Dean trains his eyes on the door and just waits, body a tense of nerves and Sam’s words, for his father to come through the door.

Even when Sam leaves, Dean will be the one left to clean up this mess.

* * *

**003 – Stabbed In The Back**

The town’s exactly like the mental picture, Dean can make out the bell, tells Bobby as such. Bobby’s giving him a sideways glance and Dean might as well be all the way psychic, because he knows that Bobby’s thinking the same thing Dean told Sam months ago.

Not that any of it matters. Sam’s a freak, Dean’s a freak, and it goes together like that whiskey and Zeppelin when he was twenty-two. Now it’s more like whiskey and more whiskey, or maybe it’s just plain Sam and Dean. Maybe they can be their own metaphor.

Bobby’s making gestures and Dean shakes his head. It’s not that way, he can sense it. It’s like some of Sam’s psychic crazy has scarred itself into Dean and he’s running on it, feet falling on the loose stone road and he only half cares if Bobby’s following.

He sees him before anything registers. Arms twisted around his body, and Dean’s surging forward toward him. “Sam!”

“Dean!”

There’s movement behind him, a shadow that becomes a man. “Sam, look out!”

The world seems to stop. All of it shattering like a crowbar to a car window, and Dean’s back in that memory. Dean’s back losing another member of his family. A yell of “No!” he doesn’t know is his, or Bobby’s, or Sam’s, or even John’s. All he knows it’s that it’s only him and Sam moving in the whole world as they both collapse to their knees, Dean’s fists balling up Sam’s jacket and holding him upright, staring at him, telling him to open eyes and keep watching.

“Sam!”

Weight shifts and Dean’s suddenly solely responsible for keeping his brother upright. He thinks he might say something, a string of no-meaning words Sam wouldn’t even care about. There’s a sticky wet feeling on his palm, and it travels throughout his body once he realises what that means.

“Hey, look at me. It’s not even that bad, all right?” Every word, it’s useless. “Sammy? Sam! Hey, listen to me.” All of it’s too real again, too much like losing their dad, too much like losing Sam to Stanford. Only worse. Much worse. “We’re gonna patch you up, okay? You’re gonna be good as new. I’m gonna take care of you. I’m gonna take care of you.” Sam’s not moving, not registering. Dean’s moving his hands over his brother’s face, trying to pull out something he can’t find. “I’ve got you. That’s my job, right? Watching out for my pain-in-the-ass little brother?” It’s worthless, it’s pitiful, it’s like trying to shoot a ghost with bullets. Sam’s eyes are rolling back, and Dean’s still trying to find his soul.  “Sam? Sam! Sammy!”

His name over, and over, and over again. Echoing through the air as Sam eyes slide shut and Dean’s holding all of him. He’s not going to, not ready to...

”No. No, no, no, no. Oh, God.”

He’s pulling him closer, they’re two and two together and Dean just wants to swap their places. Can’t do this, can’t look at this. So he doesn’t, he buries his face in Sam’s hair and he tells the world to stop moving because two years ago everything was finally getting back to normal. They can take Dad, they can have the monsters, but not Sam. Please not Sam.

“Sam!”

* * *

**004 – His Time In Hell**

It’s all crackles of thunder, and lightning, and...is that him? Screams, yells, pain from the core of a body no one could have ever heard on earth. Dean can’t run away, can’t even block his ears. Then he realises the sounds are from him and it wouldn’t matter, because most of them are inside. Most of them are “SAM!” and there’s blood all around, green clouds of smog, and he can taste copper that is definitely, definitely his.

Sam’s gone again, and Dean’s selfish enough to yell to him for saviour.

* * *

**005 – “YES”**

The entire building is empty. There’s not even a lull of traffic, or pay-per-view, or a voice to break through. It’s just Dean, head covered in hands and he’s trying to find someone, trying to find Sam, and he knows Sam’s gone. Every part of him knows Sam’s gone, but that’s never changed anything, never influenced the way he thinks or acts.

He still has his job to do.

Chuck doesn’t have the answers, Bobby’s telling him to stop, and Cas is just cramming him with the angel crap. “It’s Sam!” Dean’s yelling but nobody seems to hear. It’s whiskey and Zeppelin, fast cars and hot chicks, buzzing old school westerns on the TV and seedy motel rooms. Then he realises they won’t understand that, nobody will ever understand it.

“Well, then I ain’t gonna let him die alone.” Suddenly, he doesn’t care, about anyone or anything. If Dean dies, at least he’s not about to lose his brother again.

* * *

**And The 001 Time He Didn’t**

No matter what any of them say, it’s still Sam. Maybe they can’t see it, maybe they don’t know where in the eyes to look or what they should be searching for. Dean does, and it’s his brother. Clouded, pained, lost, and confused, but Dean knows Sammy. He knows this is his Sammy.

 “Sam, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here. I’m not gonna leave you.” He’s punched, spitting blood, and only half of his eye can see. It only sees Sam, always sees Sam.

Doesn’t matter that he’s bloodied or that every single piece of bone and flesh aches, doesn’t matter that everyone around him is gone or dead, doesn’t matter that there’s guilt trying to crawl into his mind and pick at his soul. He’s just got a fist tugging into Sam’s jacket and he won’t let go.

“I’m not gonna leave you!”


End file.
